


N is for No Curse Too Strange

by vipjuly



Series: ZYX's [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Creature Castiel (Supernatural), Creature Dean Winchester, Curse Breaking, Fic Facer$ Charity Auction 2019, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M, Release the Kraken, Side Rowena/Sam, Tentacle Sex, The Word "Gooch" Too Many Times, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 10:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20965091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: After Dean accidentally eats a batch of Kraken eggs (seriously, get Rowena her own frigging fridge to store her spooky shit in), he gets transformed into a Kraken halfling. The good news is, Rowena can reverse the spell on the full moon, exactly one month from now.The bad news is... well, he's a freaking Kraken.Castiel keeps him company and seems to have a particular interest in Dean's new... appendages.





	N is for No Curse Too Strange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaywardGlitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardGlitter/gifts).

> contribution one (of two!) for this year's fic facer$ challenge!  
thank you, glitter, for lighting a fire under my butt to write the one thing i've been dying to write for years.  
despite the content this is a lot fluffier than my usual stuff.  
i took some liberties with octopus anatomy but really i just wanted to use the word "gooch" as often and as tastefully as possible. (spoiler: that word is not tasteful, but no less fun to use in any given sentence)  
enjoy!

“... What is in your mouth?” 

Dean glances up from the plate of scrambled eggs he’d been devouring. “Uh… breakfast?”

Sam is suddenly right at Dean’s elbow. Dean feels a lot like a golden retriever about to get its snout tapped. “Eggs?”

A bit of the scramble falls from Dean’s mouth as he tries to nonchalantly scoff out a “chyeah”.

“Oh no.” Sam pales.

Dean stares at the remaining fluffy, delicious scramble on his plate, then puts his elbow on the table so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. “These weren’t regular eggs.”

“No,” Sam says gravely.

“Damn it, Sam, get your witch bitch a mini fridge!” Dean barks.

“I’m sure it’s fine!”

It was Not Fine.

Ten minutes later Rowena shakes her head and looks up at Sam. “We need a private facility with water.”

“You don’t gotta drown me,” Dean mumbles.

“No, dear,” Rowena sends him a grim smile. “We need to house you.”

🐙🐙🐙

If life were a scripted TV show, the scene would fade to black and in the next scene, Dean would be fully transformed. As it is, the transformation is long and uncomfortable. First, his toes turn into tiny black tentacles. It’d be kind of funny if it weren’t for the suction cups sticking to his socks, the floor, the garbage can; then, later in the day, his legs start to feel like jelly until, well… the bones liquefy, or whatever. He’s collapsed in the shower, screaming in agony as his skin melts right off the bone to reveal… more black tentacles. Gone are Dean’s glorious bowed legs, replaced with eight long, strong tentacles. Near Dean’s torso they’re almost as thick as his biceps, thickness tapering down the length, the ends of them the width of two fingers. They’re fucking huge.

The steam from the shower clouds around him as he stares, the pain receding bit by bit. The tentacles are inky black with an iridescent green sparkly design, that honestly would look kinda cool if he weren’t so freaked out. The suckers on the other side are darker green, shifting slightly with his breath, attached to him yet seemingly alive on their own, little _pock!_s accompanying everything they touch. As Dean does his best to not hyperventilate he feels a tingling in his pelvis - another scream rips from his throat, his body fully collapsing again as his anatomy burns through the change. When the pain subsides Dean runs his palms over his stomach and then lets out a pitiful whimper when his pelvic bone and the skin stretched over it turns into slick, smooth, rubbery, cephalopod skin.

He’s dickless.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice comes from the other side of the door.

“Cas,” Dean calls out, voice wrecked. He shifts to push himself weakly up, palms flat on the floor, elbows threatening to buckle. 

The door opens, some of the steam shifting and clearing with the outside air swirling in. Castiel’s fully dressed, because of course he is, dress shoes clacking along the wet tile as he approaches Dean. Crouching, Castiel reaches to grab Dean’s shoulders, helping him sit up and lean against the wall, Dean trying valiantly to control where his tentacles go but finding it nearly impossible to control them. They slither and squirm and spread before he finally wills them to spread in a way that feels like he’s sitting proper, sweat and condensation from the shower on his forehead, lungs struggling to pull in air from both pain and the sudden exertion from movement.

“Thanks,” Dean huffs out, resting his head back against the tiles. As soon as his breath is caught he opens his eyes to throw some sort of joke towards Castiel, but words die on his tongue when he sees the way Castiel is looking at his tentacles. “Hey.” 

Castiel drags his eyes away from the writhing limbs, blue eyes shining with concern. “Does it hurt?”

“Fuck yeah,” Dean laughs breathlessly. “But it’s already getting better. Hopefully this is all the transforming I’ll do.” Thankfully Dean’d had warning that this was going to happen, or else he imagines this would be a _greatly_ disconcerting surprise.

“What does…” Castiel trails off, his gaze lowering towards Dean’s tentacles again. He’s soaked. He didn’t turn off the shower. “What does it feel like?” 

“Like I got eight legs,” Dean replies grumpily. “Can you help me stand? I ain’t gonna crawl around.”

“Of course,” Castiel stands, his wet clothes swishing around. Selfless bastard. He grasps Dean’s forearms, Dean grasps his in return, and he hauls Dean up with his impressive angelic strength. It takes Dean a few moments to gain his footing, so to speak, but once he figures out where and how to arrange his tentacles, he straightens his torso and lets out a groan. Castiel is still holding onto his forearms. Dean’s half a head shorter than him because his tentacles are bent to accommodate his weight and posture. “I’ll get you a towel.” 

A bit more shuffling and awkward moments as Castiel does his best to not step on the tips of Dean’s tentacles, they manage to make it out of the bathroom without too huge of incident. Calling out for Sam and Rowena, Dean ignores the way Castiel’s white button down is wetly plastered to his chest, his nipples hard and ribs shifting as he breathes. Sam and Rowena show up promptly - Sam covers his mouth and turns around to hide his smile, while Rowena tuts in sympathy.

“Well the good news is, you’re a halfling,” she says.

“Good news,” Dean echoes dryly.

She glares, “Would you rather be a full on Kraken?” 

“Is that what I ate?” Dean asks, stifling a gag by knuckling under his nose and tucking his chin unattractively. “Kraken eggs?”

“What do you need Kraken eggs for?” Sam finally turns around, avoiding looking at Dean entirely.

Rowena reaches up to fluff her fiery hair idly, “That’s private.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “I don’t care why you need them- how long am I gonna be like this?” 

“Til’ the full moon,” Rowena says decisively. “I can concoct a spell that will reverse the transformation, but we’ll need the power of the full moon for the magic to fully work.” 

“The full moon was last night,” Castiel says, brow furrowing.

Dean gawps. “I gotta be like this for a _month_?” He looks between them. “What the hell am I gonna do for a fuckin’ month?”

“Well,” Sam shrugs. “I found a facility and faked up some documents so you’ll be safe there. I can run some power lines in, you can have your laptop… Watch all the porn you want.”

Dean narrows his eyes towards his brother. “I’m _dickless_.”

“That’s not true,” Castiel pipes up, because of course he does. “Cephalopods have eight tentacles, and in order to reproduce they have a sexual organ called a hec-”

“Stop stop stop,” Dean yells, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God.”

“Anyway,” Rowena says, clearly aggrieved by everyone’s immaturity. “I’m sorry, Dean. But you’ll have to be in that facility away from prying eyes, and in the water.” 

“What, am I gonna shrivel up and die?” Dean glances down at his new lower half. “Looks fine to me and I’m not in the water right now.” 

“You need to be replenished frequently,” Rowena says. “And you’ll need to stay active.”

“Cool. Swimmin’ laps in the kiddie pool while everyone else goes about their normal lives,” Dean gripes.

“You definitely can’t hunt,” Sam points out. Asshole. “Could you even fit in your car right now?” 

“Lay off,” Dean growls, pointing at Sam.

Castiel reaches up and gently puts his hand on Dean’s, lowering his accusing finger. “Stop. Both of you.” As patient as ever, Castiel turns his eyes towards Dean. The blue depths are filled with concern, and an edge of pity. “We will make the facility as comfortable as possible for you.” 

“Awesome.” Dean grumps, lowering his hand and pulling it away from the heat of Castiel’s. 

Awesome.

🐙🐙🐙

They rent a U-Haul and it’s fucking embarrassing. Castiel sits in the cargo hold with Dean, quiet as ever, blessedly _not_ trying to give him anymore facts about eight-tentacled creatures and whatever biological habits they do or do not have. The facility that Sam had found and forged ownership of is a small warehouse that used to sell hot tubs, the center of the building featuring a huge inlaid swimming pool, still in excellent condition. With a little handiwork from Sam and Castiel and a couple extra magical nudges from Rowena, the pool fills with clean water and is heated to a temperature comfortable enough for Dean to live in. As Dean plops into the water and glides around, marveling at the sensation of the water passing over his new appendages, the others work on making the area around the pool inhabitable, as well. Couches, table and chairs, electrical hookups for Dean’s laptop and a thirty-six inch television.

It looks surprisingly homey, and Dean watches everyone work while he rests against the edge of the pool, arms folded on the ledge, chin resting on them. When they’re all done a few hours later, Dean having swam a few more laps, fascinated by how quickly he can swim and how _good_ the water feels, Rowena and Sam bid Dean goodbye, while Castiel hangs back. 

“Dean,” Castiel starts.

Dean waves a hand, “Cas. I’ll be fine. Scenery could be a little better, but whatever. Hey, put the TV remote in a plastic baggy so I don’t get it wet, will ya?”

Castiel complies, busying himself in the designated kitchen area. It’s barely a kitchenette, but there’s a hot plate, a sink, and dishware and utensils, a standalone pantry filled with food and snacks and a mini fridge. He walks to the edge of the pool and hands Dean the baggy-remote, and Dean does his best to avoid the pitying look in his eyes. “Dean…”

Shaking his head, Dean pushes away from the ledge and floats backwards, away from Castiel. It’s sinking in, the situation - how he’s going to be sequestered away in this place for the next month, not hunting, not being able to see his doofus brother every day, not being able to see Castiel-

Woah now.

“I can stay,” Castiel offers plaintively. Like it’s not a big deal.

Dean works on fumbling with the remote, getting the TV to turn on after a few slippery presses. “You don’t gotta stay.” He finally says, after settling on HGTV. He avoids looking at Castiel. “I’ll manage.” 

He doesn’t need to be looking at Castiel to know the angel is frowning. Still ignoring him, Dean manages to turn the TV volume down to an ambient level, before he puts the remote on the edge of the pool and then shifts to float on his back, closing his eyes. There’s a tense silence between them, Dean stubborn and Castiel surely frustrated, but eventually the sound of Castiel’s shoes leaving the warehouse echo, and when the door shuts, Dean lets out a short, bursting breath. 

Figures.

Sitting up, Dean yelps when he sees Castiel at the edge of the pool, undressing.

“What are you doing?” Dean doesn’t shriek, turning around so he doesn’t have to watch the way Castiel is meticulously unbuttoning his white shirt.

“Keeping you company.”

Dean ducks under the water to cool his breath, swimming a few anxious laps before finally popping his head above the surface just enough that he can breathe through his nose and watch Castiel. The angel is down to his boxers, plain, white, ugly things, and he carefully sits on the ledge of the pool, his tan, hairy legs disappearing into the water.

“Is this temperature alright?” Castiel asks. “It’s quite warm.”

Dean’s eyes narrow slightly. He finally lifts up enough, his tentacles treading the water beneath him to keep him upright despite the pool being too deep for him to stand in, even if he had his human legs. “S’fine. You’re really gonna stay?”

“I much prefer your company to Rowena’s,” Castiel says plainly.

Dean manages to snort, amused. “Yeah, things have been kinda weird since she uh… decided to have an extended stay with us, huh?”

“Mmm,” Castiel nods. 

Swimming closer, Dean eyes Castiel’s legs warily. “Won’t you get pruny?” 

“No,” the angel replies. “Just as you won’t.” 

“Huh.” 

Dean won’t say it out loud, but Castiel choosing to stay with him actually lifts quite a bit of anxiety from his gut. Dean doesn’t do change well - he’s always been adaptable, sure, but this change is a little bigger than moving into the bunker, or accepting a witch as an ally - so having Castiel’s quiet reassurance with him is already doing wonders. He gives a soft smile, swims up to the ledge to fold his arms on it, turning his gaze up towards the TV, valiantly ignoring the tip of his elbow brushing against Castiel’s thigh..

“Thanks, Cas,” he says softly.

Castiel replies not with words, but by reaching out to gently squeeze Dean’s shoulder.

This won’t be so bad.

🐙🐙🐙

Routine gets established quickly. Dean was already a creature of habit, but being confined to one space really has him set in his ways. He can walk on his tentacles, sort of, though it’s more like gliding as all of the appendages work together to move him from place to place. He and Castiel develop a symbiosis that’s both new and familiar; this is the most time they’ve spent together, just the two of them, and Dean is doing his best to not get too giddy about it. They watch TV and movies, listen to music, eat food together, swim around the pool. True to Castiel’s words his body doesn’t get pruny, no matter how much time he spends in the water. He uses his mojo to dry and clean his boxers so he doesn’t have to worry about laundry, and Dean doesn’t bother to wear shirts anyhow, so they’re leading a pretty low maintenance life.

Adjusting to his body doesn’t happen overnight, but over time Dean eventually adapts to that, too. He figures out how to move his tentacles individually, starting to treat them like extra arms instead of legs, and cooking becomes _very_ fun when he can flip the pancakes at the same time he’s chopping veggies for the omelets. He catches Castiel staring at his tentacles quite frequently; instead of embarrassed, Dean sometimes finds himself emboldened. Castiel has always had a staring problem, but usually it’s because he’s trying to wrap his giant celestial brain around the puny humans and situations around him. Dean knows that Castiel stares, now, because he… likes what he sees? Or is interested by what he sees. Anyway, whenever he feels Castiel’s heavy gaze on his tentacles he flexes them a little harder, curls them tighter, moves them slower, delighting in how instead of averting his gaze, Castiel continues to look upon them with obvious fascination. 

Castiel doesn’t need to sleep, but at night when Dean climbs onto the mesh floatie in the pool to catch some z’s, the angel curls up on the couch with a blanket, and they both stare at the stars through the skylights in the roof of the warehouse. Dean had thought he’d feel isolated and alone, when this transformation first took hold; he thought he’d feel insecure and lost, but the truth of the matter is that he feels… taken care of, appreciated. Castiel hasn’t left his side but to go get more groceries (Dean’s appetite has apparently reached its peak), and has made it abundantly clear that he’s not going anywhere. 

Sam facetimes occasionally, thankfully without Rowena present (Dean is still pissed that she stored _spell ingredients_ in the communal fridge), and even though he misses his stupid brother, Dean isn’t exactly left wanting for anything. Currently, watching Castiel putter around the kitchen to fix them sandwiches, Dean tries to not dwell too much on what that means. Sure, Castiel is his best friend. Through thick and thin, arguments and otherwise, they’ve always kissed and made up, so to speak (though Dean can’t say he wouldn’t mind actually… kissing… but that’s a topic he doesn’t want to think about _just_ yet), and Dean’s never been more grateful or thankful to have someone in his life (aside from Sam, obviously). 

When Castiel turns around, two plates piled high with sandwiches and potato chips, a satisfied, warm grin on his features, the way Dean’s heart leaps up into his throat is dangerous. In light of recent happenings, however, instead of running away from the feeling… he embraces it, revels in it a little, too.

Despite having tentacles instead of legs and being cooped up in a warehouse God-knows-where… Dean feels safe, and taken care of.

🐙🐙🐙

A week and a half after Dean’s transformation, Castiel starts touching him. Now… touching between them isn’t entirely foreign. A clap on the shoulder, lending a helping hand when either of them can’t stand on their own, hugs when the lights come on after a death experience. They’ve touched plenty over the last decade, casual and friendly, affectionate in that way men who have been friends for so long tend to be. There’s still boundaries, and usually it’s Dean setting them, because he’s pretty sure if he let him, Castiel would hug him and never let go. Or at least until Dean complained about being hungry or something. Castiel is easy with his affections, when he so chooses to give them, and it’s always made Dean’s belly flutter, _and_ it’s always made his brain go _stop this, stop this before it goes too far_.

Right now, Castiel’s fingers thoughtfully tracing the sparkly green pattern of one of his tentacles… This is definitely Too Far. 

“Hey,” Dean says. His voice cracks and crumbles. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Cas.”

Castiel glances up, his warm palm resting on Dean’s tentacle. His body heat feels divine; Dean’s core temperature has lowered considerably since his transformation, and while the warm pool and the space heaters scattered around the area keep the chill away, there’s nothing like Castiel’s touch. 

It’s as scary as it is thrilling. How can Dean feel safe and anxious at the same time? 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks.

“You’re um... “ Dean licks his lips. Suddenly, telling Castiel to remove his hand sounds like a terrible idea. “Your hand is warm.”

Castiel blinks down at where his palm is resting, and the surprise on his face lets Dean know that he’d been touching him without even realizing what he’d been doing. “Oh- I’m sorry, Dean.”

“No,” Dean reaches out to grab Castiel’s wrist as he withdraws his hand. His voice cracks again. He takes a deep breath, gently guiding Castiel’s hand back to his tentacle, letting out a satisfied sigh when the heat of his hand sinks into the appendage. “It uh. It feels really good. M’ like a lizard now.”

Castiel squints. “You’re an octopus.”

“I meant-” Dean whuffs out a laugh, shaking his head. His tentacle slithers slightly to get Castiel’s hand to reposition where it lay. “Cold blooded. And you always run hot, so… when you touch me, or when you’re close, it’s nice.”

“Nice,” Castiel echoes somewhat distractedly. His gaze drops back down to Dean’s tentacle. They’re situated on the ledge of the pool on some waterproof cushions, more for Castiel’s sake than Dean’s; Castiel is sitting criss-cross while Dean leaves the majority of his tentacles in the water, occasionally drawing one up to drip water over the others when they start to feel parched. “Does it feel good? When I touch your tentacles?” 

Dean’s throat goes a little dry. Hearing Castiel ask those questions sends his dirty brain in about a billion directions and, alright, freaking sue him - he and Castiel have been living basically attached at the hip, and everything Dean has been trying to squash down for the past ten years or so is finally rearing its head. In the past week and a half Dean has learned a lot about his new appendages; namely, how sensitive to sensation they are, touch and heat and cold and everything in between. It’s bizarre, how the sensations travel through the limbs and occasionally reach to his lower belly, where in his fully human form he typically associates swoops there with pleasure. 

Does he now have eight dicks? How does this work? They’re so sensitive, and now that Castiel knows it feels good his palm is sweeping along what he can reach in broad strokes, the rubbery skin jittering slightly under his hot touch.

No, Dean reminds himself, Castiel had said that octopus have a special organ for reproducing. All Dean really knows of his anatomy is that using the facilities is… well, at first it was terrifying, and he definitely makes sure Castiel never sees him do it, although he can’t wait to tell Sam that octopuses have rocket-poop. It’ll serve to both fascinate and gross him out. Where his tentacles meet his body there’s a pouch of sorts, an area quite sensitive to the touch, where Dean knows his… waste… comes from, but he's also curious about what other functions it might have.

Anyway, this mystery organ has yet to surface. Dean isn’t sure if it’s because he hasn’t been explicitly aroused or if it’s because maybe, blessedly, he really _is_ junkless--

“Oh, Dean.”

Blinking out of his thoughts, Dean looks down at where Castiel’s hand is still on his tentacle. Instead of green sparkles, his coloring has shifted, blue swirls decorating the appendages now, his suckers pulsing between green and blue and purple, _pock! pock! pock!_ing against Castiel’s forearm where his tentacle is wrapped.

“Woah,” Dean breathes, reaching out to touch his own tentacles. They shimmer and shift again in color and pattern, both Dean and Castiel mesmerized by their performance. “Now that’s cool.”

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel says softly. His fingers trace over one of the swirly patterns, Dean glancing up to catch the gentle smile spread across his features. 

Dean’s cheeks heat up with the compliment. Castiel’s only complimenting his tentacles, damn it. 

“How are you doing?” Castiel asks, his tone of voice still gentle as he looks up at Dean’s face. His blue eyes are filled with concern, brow soft, and Dean often equates that look with death because… well, when Castiel looks at him like that, one of them is usually about to bite it.

“M’fine,” Dean replies, his voice suddenly not wanting to work.

Castiel squints. “Dean, you don’t need to hold back. This change has been… complex, and you’ve been isolated from the outside world for almost two weeks.”

“Haven’t been isolated,” Dean says, averting his gaze. The end of one of his tentacles comes up to wrap around his wrist, comforting himself. “Got you.” 

The air around them shifts. Dean looks up to see Castiel looking down at where his tentacle is wrapped around his own wrist, his expression unreadable. “Am I enough?” 

Dean’s heart squeezes. Another tentacle lifts to wind gently around Castiel’s other forearm, suckers plucking softly at his tan skin. Castiel is surprised by the action, his spine straightening a bit as he touches the tentacle with cautious fingers. The warmth from his body seeps into that tentacle, and Dean might let out a purr if he’s not careful.

“Cas,” he finally says, when his throat is able to work properly. “You’re always enough.” 

Castiel’s head tilts up to look at Dean, the hunter surprised at how closely they’ve gravitated in just the span of a few seconds. Their bare shoulders are brushing, Dean can probably count Castiel’s eyelashes, and they’re both so, so still.

It’s Castiel that moves first.

The barest brush of lips against Dean’s, the angel holds steady there. Dean has the opportunity to pull away or pull closer and… with Castiel _right here_, Castiel looking at him like that through his lashes… Dean reaches up a hand to cup Castiel’s jaw, dragging him into a firmer kiss, their lips slotting eyes closing as they melt into one another. Castiel breathes a sigh that Dean swallows and they try to get even closer together, Castiel’s arms going around Dean’s shoulders, Dean’s free hand resting on Castiel’s back. Thanks to the tentacles Dean has a better center of gravity, which keeps them from toppling over as they devour each other’s mouths, years and years of tension and longing finally bending and snapping between them. 

“Dean,” Castiel breathes against Dean’s mouth, breaking the kiss to catch air. 

Dean takes the opportunity to let his lips travel down Castiel’s stubbled jaw, overwhelmed with need, want, desire… love. His tentacles wander along with his hands, suckers catching on a few points of Castiel’s tanned flesh and leaving little marks behind, but the more they travel, and especially when Castiel lets out the tiniest of groans into Dean’s throat, they get a little less suctiony and a little more… wet. Slick?

Opening his eyes, Dean watches a trail of clear slime smear across Castiel’s thigh. Blushing hot, Dean pulls away slightly, alarmed. “W-wait, Cas-”

Blinking dazedly, and frowning in a way that’s adorably grumpy, Castiel glares at Dean, clearly miffed at their makeout session being paused. “What?”

“My uh, I uh… I’m… sliming,” Dean says dumbly.

Castiel glances down at where the liquid is, likely, cooling on his skin. Nonplussed, he swipes his fingers through it, rubs them together, smells them, even darts his tongue out for a taste. With the tip of his forefinger in his mouth, his gaze slides over to Dean, heavy-lidded, pupils blown. “Are you aroused, Dean?” 

“I-” Dean blushes darker. He _is_ aroused, very much so, his body flashing hot and that lovely burn in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah?”

“Then I don’t think this fluid is anything to be worried about,” Castiel says, licking his middle finger clean as well. “I think perhaps it can be best likened to precome… or perhaps self-lubricant.” 

Dean flushes up to his ears. “Oh.” 

“Remarkable,” Castiel mutters, sliding his hand over Dean’s bare chest, down his flank towards his tentacles, palm white-hot.

“What am I, a science project?” Dean gruffs through his embarrassment.

“Your anatomy is fascinating,” Castiel replies. His hand slips between Dean’s tentacles, fondling the sensitive flesh, fingers probing at the suckers Dean rarely gets to use due to their proximity to his torso.

“Alright, Bill Nye,” Dean goes for annoyed and misses by a mile. Castiel’s hand keeps wandering, and then his fingers probe into that soft pouch. Pleasure jolts through Dean’s body, and he feels something beneath Castiel’s fingers shifting and changing-- head thrown back, Dean slaps his hands down to the floor as he bucks. “Fuck-!”

“There it is,” Castiel says, smug approval in his voice.

“There- what-” Dean huffs out. Castiel gently pulls and Dean looks down to see a ninth tentacle being freed, extending from his pouch; a shudder wracks his entire body, a long, low moan ripping out of his throat as electrical pulses swim through his veins from head to toe.

“The hectocotylus,” Castiel hums. 

“My _dick_?” Dean almost squeaks.

Castiel chuckles darkly, withdrawing his hand. Dean watches in mild fascination and mixed horror as his tentacle dick squirms after the touch, quite obviously different from his other tentacles. While the eight of them have a black base and iridescent shimmer, his hectocotylus lacks the shimmer and is rich purple in color, shorter in length but no less engorged. The tip is almost bulbous, and it’s leaking.

“Dean,” there’s a new insistence to Castiel’s voice as he reaches out to gently stroke Dean’s hec- his cock. “Dean, I want to bring you to orgasm.” 

If Dean weren’t already sitting, he’d probably fall over. His breathing comes out ragged, his brain can’t seem to fire on all cylinders, but he does manage to nod, which Castiel takes happily as permission. The angel leans in, then, crushing his mouth to Dean’s, fingers clasping around Dean’s dick and giving a slow, long stroke, from near the base all the way to the tip, where the bulb is perhaps twice the width of the rest of the length. Dean shudders, whimpers almost, and then Castiel is lying back so Dean can settle between his spread legs. Somewhere along the way Castiel lost his boxers and Dean takes a moment to marvel at the angel’s body; tan, thick, strong, and his cock… oh, yeah. Dean would like to bring Castiel to orgasm, too.

Not that Dean’s ever had sex with someone as a Kraken halfling, but he’s pretty sure he’s got an idea as to how things are gonna go, at least instinctually. 

Castiel is jacking his cock, smearing the weird precome over the round head, which seems to be malleable when pressure is applied; it changes shape when Castiel squeezes, but when he lets go, it engorges back to that full, bulbous shape. They’re both fascinated by that for a few pulls, but then Dean is panting, feeling his veins start to boil. His hands are planted on either side of Castiel’s head, his tentacles splayed to keep him elevated, but it only takes a little thought for one of his tentacles to circle Castiel’s dick, the slick suckers _pock! pock!_ing as they find a grip.

And oh, fuck, the _noise_ Castiel lets out when Dean’s tentacle starts jacking him off. Dean has seen (and heard) Castiel in various states of being. Scared, angry, cold, irritated, happy, annoyed, smug. Dean thought he’d seen everything, heard every noise Castiel could make, until now, of course. And how fucking stupid was he to think that he’d learned all of Castiel when there was all of this _potential_, now that the dam had been broken. This was a whole side of Castiel that Dean knows all of one person has been privy to - and April was a bitch, anyway. Castiel’s died and been remade since then so many times he’s practically a virgin, Dean knows it. 

His dick swells and lets out a little blurt of what might be precome when that thought bounces around his skull. It slicks Castiel’s hand as they jack each other, Dean between Castiel’s legs and Castiel trembling beneath him. 

How incredible is it to see one of God’s first creations shaking apart because of Dean’s touch. How marvelous is it to see a being that saw the first cells of life clump together to make something substantial with tears of pleasure in his eyes because of Dean’s touch. How stunning is it to see _Castiel_ trembling, moaning, writhing, _because of Dean’s touch_.

How fucking ridiculous is it that Dean has been denying himself this for so many years. 

Smashing their lips together, Dean claims Castiel’s mouth in a demanding kiss. Castiel opens up beautifully for him, and Dean appreciates that right now, in this instant, Castiel is letting him take the lead. It’s actually pretty thoughtful, considering the fact that Dean is… not quite himself, at the moment. Not that Dean is averse to the thought of Castiel dominating the hell out of him but that’s not the point at this exact moment in time when he’s in a body that he’s still trying to figure out. Besides, there’s always next time.

Fuck, a next time.

“Cas,” Dean breathes out, breaking their kiss to start kissing down Castiel’s stubbled jaw, enjoying the way their whiskers rasp against each other. Castiel has both hands on his tentacle-dick now, the length of it solid muscle, hard just like a human cock and steel in Castiel’s grip. And man, Castiel’s hands have always been _divine_, no pun intended, his wide palms and long, strong fingers having been the center of quite a few… dirty dreams in the past. But fuck, nothing compares to the real thing. “I think- fuck, I think I’m gonna blow soon…”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes out, airy and wrecked, another one of Dean’s tentacles coming up to fondle his balls, the suckers wet with slick. The noise of his suckers and tentacles sliding over the angel’s skin is _lewd_. Arching his back, Castiel bares his throat, twisting his wrists on Dean’s cock.

“Fuck-!” Dean’s orgasm gets punched out of him suddenly. He looks down just in time to see the bulbous head of his cock expand and then empty, glob after glob of shimmery, pearlescent cum spilling over Castiel’s stomach, cock, and balls. 

Castiel glances down just in time to see the last few pulses of Dean’s release, and that must trigger his own, because he lets go of Dean’s dick so he can grab onto his biceps instead, tight enough to bruise as his cock kicks and his release splurts out to join Dean’s mess. Dean’s tentacles milk him through the waves and when Castiel collapses, boneless, Dean shifts so his heavy body (yeah, he’s recognized these tentacles have added a few pounds) doesn’t crush the angel.

Gathering their breaths, Dean stands on slightly shaky tentacles to glide over towards the kitchenette, grabbing some soft paper towels and returning to Castiel to mop him up. Jesus, tentacle jizz apparently comes by the bucket. 

Heh. 

Comes by the bucket.

It doesn’t take long to clean up. Castiel stands on wobbly legs and makes it over to the couch to flop onto it; Dean follows, his body not really able to sit properly on the cushion with the backrest, but he makes do so he can draw Castiel into his chest. Arms wrapped around one another, Dean cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair, enjoying the idle way Castiel is petting his tentacles, which are back to their normal iridescent green shimmer. 

“Well,” Dean says at length, after a few moments of quiet.

Castiel’s chuckle rumbles against his chest. “That was amazing.” 

Dean grins a bit dopily. “Yeah, it was.” 

“Dean,” Castiel sits up a bit to make eye contact, earnest all of a sudden, those blue eyes glittering with a note of seriousness. “I don’t want you to feel as though I am only attracted to you because of the tentacles.”

“What?” Dean blinks.

“I know it may seem that the tentacles are the reason for our coupling,” Castiel continues, “but while they are indeed pleasurable and beautiful, they do not affect my view of you, Dean. I loved you before, I love you now, and I will love you when you are changed back.”

All the air wheezes out of Dean’s lungs as his cheeks burn hot. “Uh, Cas-”

“And while I will be sad to see the tentacles go, simply because of their multiple functions and how lovely they are to touch and look at, I will still find you beautiful, as I always have.”

“Cas-”

“Please lay your insecurities to rest. I know sometimes you have low self-esteem, especially lately since you haven’t had any relations with another human in quite some time, so perhaps engaging in sex with an angel while you are currently a Kraken halfling is the best you can do-”

“Shut the fuck up, Cas,” Dean says, voice filled with exasperation. He frowns. “What the hell do you mean, ‘best I can do’? You make it sound like you’re some sort of… option B or somethin’.”

Castiel lowers his eyes and it makes Dean’s heart crumble to tiny pieces in his chest. “I know I’m not what you want, Dean. But I’m what’s here, and I can accept that.” 

Dean drops his head back against the couch, groaning low and pitiful. “Holy shit, Cas, fuck. I owe you the biggest fuckin’ apology on the planet.” He rewraps his arms around Castiel’s frame, hauling him closer and pressing a chaste, but firm kiss to his lips. “You just said you love me. Do you mean that?”

Castiel’s surprise morphs into a frown. “Of course I meant it, Dean.”

“Ok.” Dean’s heart reassembles itself quickly, just in time for him to say, “I love you too, Cas.”

Castiel squints. 

Dean offers him a crooked, charming smile.

Castiel rolls his eyes so hard it causes him to stand up from the couch in all his naked glory. “You are the most obtuse human I have ever met in my entire existence,” he grouses.

Dean smiles cheekily, “But you love me.”

Castiel walks to his boxers, picking them up and mojo’ing them clean and dry. He walks over to the kitchenette, glaring at the electric kettle as he turns it on. Snickering in amusement, Dean gets up off of the couch and glides towards Castiel, wrapping his arms around the angel from behind, peppering kisses across his broad shoulders. 

“You mad?”

Some tension bleeds from Castiel’s frame as he sighs. “No, Dean. Just frustrated. Once again I have been blind to even the simplest of human affections.”

“I mean, to be fair, I suck at expressing affection?” Dean says with a shrug. “So if those were the cues you were waiting for… that’s on me.” 

Castiel leans back into Dean slightly. “In any case… I’m glad we’re here, Dean.”

“Mmm,” Dean makes an assenting noise as he nibbles idly on the shell of Castiel’s ear. “Me too. I always imagined our first time would be in a derelict warehouse and that I would have a tentacle-dick.”

Castiel elbows him in the ribs, but Dean catches sight of his smile as he pours himself a mug of tea.

This whole thing ain’t so bad, after all.

🐙🐙🐙

Sam takes everything blessedly in stride when he drops by to bring more beer and catches Dean slapping Castiel’s ass when he walks away. The only time he even gives away whatever emotions he’s having in light of Dean and Castiel’s new relationship is when Castiel compliments Dean’s tentacles out loud, and the tips of them perk and shake with glee, reflective of Dean’s pleasure at receiving the compliment. Sam merely looks at the quivering appendages, smiles smugly to himself, and then tells them about the werewolf he killed last week.

As for Dean and Castiel themselves, adjusting has been… well, non-existent, really. What’s to adjust? They’re still _them_, Dean and Castiel, just with added groping and kissing. When Dean gives Castiel a blowjob and alternates with his tentacles, Castiel admits that while the suckers feel mindblowing, Dean’s mouth is infinitely better because, well, it’s _Dean_. But of course, the two of them paired together yields no complaints. Mostly they just jack each other, or grind until completion, hurried sloppy blowjobs only happening when one or both of them is delirious with lust. 

Today, though, Castiel looks at Dean with determination Dean hasn’t seen since Castiel first got a cell phone.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, feeling Castiel’s eyes burning a hole through his skull while they (Dean) watch TV.

“I would like to perform fellatio on your hectocotylus.”

Water comes out of Dean’s nose as he rips the bottle away from his lips, his bugged eyes looking over at Castiel. “Jesus, warn a guy!”

Castiel seems nonplussed. “Count this as your warning. I want to suck your tentacle-dick.” 

“I’m- I mean, uh- Ok?” Dean sputters, shifting on the couch so he can try and face Castiel, half of his tentacles on the cushion, the other half braced on the floor to keep his body balanced and comfortable.

A pleased smile spreads over Castiel’s features, and then he wastes no time diving in. So to speak. He kinda does dive, though, bending down so he can start working his hands into the mess of the thick tentacles, his fingers probing along the pouch. Dean’s cock stirs and then unsheathes, his tentacles vibrating with pleasure as Castiel draws it out with his hands. Tipping his head back for a moment to let out a low groan, Dean lowers his chin again just in time to see Castiel two-handing his tentacle-dick, lowering his mouth to the tip. 

Since his cock is already slick, the moisture of Castiel’s mouth doesn’t really register. But the _heat_ of it does, Castiel’s lips parting so he can bob his head shallowly. The tip of his cock is engorged, but the more Castiel works his mouth over it, the more it evens out, turning a bit more phallic. If Dean weren’t so focused on Castiel giving his tentacle-dick a blowjob, he’d consider it fascinating. As it is, he doesn’t have the ability to make his brain function in any capacity other than a pleasure receptor. 

And Castiel, wow. Does he suck cock like a pro. Dean considers that Castiel has had fucking thousands of years to watch humans get it on, not to mention Dean’s fully aware that sometimes Castiel watches porn as a past-time (who the hell watches porn for the hell of it? Castiel, that’s who), so the fact that he can take a dick like a champ really isn’t a surprise. Sure is great, though. Dean’s dick is about a foot long right now, because Castiel is within easy reach, but they’ve learned that it can get as long as the rest of his tentacles - about eight feet or so. Which is kinda funny but also kinda useless, Dean’s pretty sure when they’re handling his dick he’d like for them to be as close as possible. Even if shoving his cock into Castiel’s mouth from the opposite side of the couch sounds like a new sport he’d like to excel in…

Slurping brings Dean back to the present. Both of Castiel’s hands are stroking Dean’s cock, wringing on the upward twist, loosening on the way down, his tongue dipping into the slit. Dean’s body flushes hot all over at the image in front of him, at the sight of his angel looking thoroughly debauched just from bringing _Dean_ pleasure. Castiel’s selflessness knows no bounds. Fuck, that’s a turn on. 

“Mmnh,” Dean threads the fingers of one hand through Castiel’s messy, dark hair. “Yeah, babe. Fuck.” 

Pulling off to lick his lips, Castiel’s beautiful blues lift to meet Dean’s own heavy-lidded gaze. “The taste is… addictive.” 

Arousal thrums through Dean, the air leaving his lungs in a breathy, “Yeah?” 

Castiel _smirks_, Dean’s dick immediately throbbing in reply. “Yes. I’d like to swallow.” 

“You’d-” Dean gets cut off by his own moan when Castiel goes down on him again, this time with renewed vigor. 

He continues stroking Dean’s cock, his other hand working through the writhing tentacles to get at that pouch. It’s such a sensitive area, the instant Castiel’s fingers start massaging it Dean nearly goes blind with pleasure. Castiel’s fingers are insistent, and for a moment Dean’s really confused about what exactly he’s looking for - and then Castiel’s fingers _sink in_, Dean nearly screaming as his orgasm overtakes him. His eyes are stuck wide open, watching Castiel pull off to the tip of his cock, the engorged head throbbing and pulsing as gush after gush of cum spills into Castiel’s waiting mouth, his fingers still buried… _wherever_ it is they landed. Dean’s entire body trembles and twitches, little whimpers leaving his mouth as he rides the waves, and Jesus, how much cum can his dick pump out? He drops back against the couch, boneless, and when his cock is finally empty Castiel pulls away, collecting any stray spunk from his lips and chin and tucking it neatly inside his mouth, tonguing himself clean.

“Did you…” Dean pants a few times, trying to get his breathing under control. When he has the strength, he sends Castiel a bewildered look, a mix between a frown and a smile. “Did you just finger my gooch?” 

“I’m sure that’s not the scientific term,” Castiel replies without a beat, “but yes.” 

Dean lets out a delirious laugh, collapsing and reaching up to rub his hands over his features. “Who’da thunk you’d be so damn freaky in bed. Fuck.” Belatedly, Dean realizes he should probably reciprocate. He starts to sit up, reaching for Castiel’s belt - but Castiel catches his hand, and Dean finally registers the wet spot on the front of his white boxers. Heart pounding, Dean’s mouth goes dry as he looks up at the angel. “Holy shit. You came?” 

“I enjoyed myself,” Castiel says easily, completely not embarrassed at all. Then again, should he be embarrassed? Dean thinks it’s incredible that he could come just from blowing Dean.

“Good,” Dean laughs a little, his breath finally returning to normal. “How ‘bout a swim?” 

Castiel’s smile is radiant, his eyes full of love when he replies, “Of course, Dean.”

🐙🐙🐙

Sam and Rowena stand across from Dean and Castiel. Sam looks absolutely dumbfounded, hands limp at his sides, eyes bouncing between the other two. Rowena looks mildly annoyed, exasperated, and also like she suspected something like this would happen.

Something like this being, mainly, that Castiel had transformed into a Kraken halfling, as well.

“How could this have happened?” Sam and his dumb mouth asks.

Rowena rolls her eyes. “The eggs, dear. If you ingest Kraken eggs, you become a halfling.” Her beautiful smokey eyes narrow as she looks between Dean and Castiel, who are suddenly looking anywhere other than at the witch. “Castiel, did you consume Kraken eggs?” 

“...Maybe,” Castiel answers, cagey.

“I’ll not ask what sort of sexual exploits you’re up to, but it’s quite obvious what happened,” Rowena says archly, still looking between Dean and Castiel. “I’ll never understand how any of you oafs have lived to be this old, what with how absolutely brainless you act at times.”

Sam _finally_ gets with the program, gagging on his own spit, “Castiel swallowed-”

“ALRIGHTY THEN,” Dean yells over Sam’s sputtering. “It happened, there ain’t no goin’ back. Cas can also get changed on the full moon, right?” 

Rowena sighs, annoyed. “Yes, Dean, but I’ll have to alter the spell for two, now. It’ll be cutting it close to the deadline, though.” 

Sam’s back is now turned to the couple, both his hands covering his face. He might be hyperventilating. Dean doesn’t care. Sam never did understand his _Princess Asuka_ VHS series (a! collectible!), so even though Sam tends to take weirdness in stride and is definitely accepting of Castiel and Dean’s relationship, apparently tentacle fellatio is crossing the line. Who knew. Dean’s gonna hold this over his head for the rest of forever.

“I apologize,” Castiel says, frowning. “I should have realized that swallowing the ejaculate would be tantamount to eating the eggs.”

“It is curious,” Rowena says thoughtfully, scanning Dean from head to toe, “mostly because it’s the female eggs that cause the transformation into a halfling…”

“Wait, wait,” Dean points to the general mess of his tentacles, “are you telling me my gooch is a vagina? With like a womb and shit?”

“Your _gooch_?” Sam wheels around, scrunching his face up in Bitch Face #117. “Really Dean?”

“Well what the hell else am I gonna call the pocket where my dick magically pops out of?” Dean snaps. 

“Can Dean get pregnant?” Castiel says, his voice pitched slightly.

“Enough!” Rowena yells. Her voice echoes around the warehouse, the ground trembling slightly, her eyes flashing purple briefly before she takes a breath and fixes her hair. Once she deems herself calm, she glares at all of them. “I’ve never dealt with a Kraken halfling before, no one has for centuries, but there were rumors that they’re hermaphrodites. I highly doubt Dean can get pregnant, as his human form doesn’t have a womb, which is where a pregnancy would carry out.” 

“So if you turned into a Kraken halfling, you could get pregnant?” Sam asks her.

Rowena sends him a withering glare, “I’m over three hundred years old, Samuel, I believe I’m a little past my prime.” 

Sam looks inappropriately relieved at that information.

“Oh my God,” Dean feels like throwing up. “Alright, cool, so I’m a hermaphrodite or whatever, but I can’t get pregnant, I think that covers all of our questions. Can you leave now, please?” 

“Are you really ok with that information or are you just trying to kick us out?” Sam asks, eyes narrowed towards Dean. 

“I’ll figure it out but you guys gotta go.”

Sam rolls his eyes but agrees, turning around to head out. Rowena looks between Castiel and Dean one more time, and then sighs softly. 

“Nothing is ever just _easy_ with you Winchesters,” she gripes, before following Sam out of the warehouse.

Left alone, Dean lets out a sigh and turns towards Castiel, who is busy trying to arrange his tentacles, a cute frown on his features as he concentrates. Castiel’s tentacles are black like Dean’s, their shimmer turquoise and his suckers a soft pink. He’s always been beautiful, Dean knows, but seeing him like this… 

First thing, he’d called Sam. Now that that had been done, it’s on to the second thing. 

He glides forward, catching Castiel’s chin in his fingers so he can tilt his head up for a deep, demanding kiss, his tongue shoving into the angel’s mouth. Castiel gasps softly in surprise but melts quickly, his hands sliding up Dean’s forearms to rest in the crook of his elbows. The kiss slows, then turns lazy, and when they part Dean’s got a doofy smile on his features, Castiel’s face smoothed out as well. 

“Hey,” Dean murmurs.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, all the warmth and love coloring his tone the same it has been for years. Man, Dean’d been so stupid. “These do take some getting used to.” He gestures down towards his tentacles. 

“Mmhmm,” Dean nips at Castiel’s jaw. “Wanna give ‘em a spin?”

“Dean,” Castiel frowns a little, “aren’t you concerned about what Rowena said?”

“What? About my mangina?” Castiel scowls, clearly not pleased with that slang. Dean rolls his eyes. “My gooch?” 

“Please don’t call it that, either.”

“I ain’t callin’ it my pussy,” Dean grouses, pulling away from Castiel.

“You don’t have to call it anything, Dean,” Castiel says with an exasperated sigh. “I would just like to make sure that you’re ok with knowing you are currently a hermaphrodite.” 

“I mean, it’s weird,” Dean says, throwing his hands up as he glides away, intent on getting on the couch and resuming the Harry Potter marathon on TV. “But it’s not permanent, so whether or not I’m ok with it, it’s not gonna be like this forever.”

Castiel is slower to come to the couch after Dean settles himself on it. He wrings his hands idly in front of him. “Would you still want to…” he trails off.

Dean spares him a glance, and then holds back a fond sigh as he opens up his arm and gestures towards Castiel. “Will you come here?” 

Castiel’s still clumsy on his tentacles, so he stumbles a little in his haste to get to the couch. His tentacles are slightly shorter than Dean’s, but they’re thicker, which must make it a bit more difficult to get around. But even like this, tentacles for lower halves, they fit together like they were made to, Dean drawing Castiel into his side, a few of their tentacles tangling together as well. 

“If you’re askin’ if I still wanna bang, I do,” Dean says, not moving his gaze from the TV. “We’ll figure out the mechanics together.”

He feels Castiel’s pleased hum when the angel rests his cheek on his shoulder. “Alright, Dean.”

🐙🐙🐙

The mechanics aren’t that difficult to figure out. Now that Castiel is also a halfling, pool sex just got infinitely better. It’s fascinating and incredible that they can embrace, kiss, hold each other, and their dicks just… do their own thing. Dean’s amused thought about getting oral from the other side of the couch gets overshadowed by the reality of their dicks being able to touch each other even when they’re not that close. Because honestly, now that _both_ of them have tentacles, it’s hard to get their… well, uglies to bump.

Castiel also has a gooch (pry that vocab word out of Dean’s cold, dead brain) and is particularly susceptible to orgasming from Dean fingering him. In all actuality it’s not too dissimilar from human sex; they just have extra limbs. He supposes it’s actually a plus that they’re hermaphrodites; being able to fuck Castiel’s slick, warm pouch while Castiel returns the favor is out of this _world_. Dean’s never tried a double-ended dildo, but he’s pretty sure they’re ruined for him. Their torsos and necks and arms are covered in little suction marks, their tentacles always sticking to each other’s skin (and each other’s tentacles, talk about getting tangled) on purpose and accidentally. Honestly it’s kinda funny, but it goes from funny to hot with just A Look from Castiel at any given time. 

The full moon approaches and they’ve completely explored their new bodies. Having Castiel’s company as an angel had been great, but having him as a halfling has lessened Dean’s anxiety considerably. Because while he’d been fairly adjusted, it was still jarring sometimes to wake up from sleep and see eight, writhing tentacles instead of his freckled bowlegs. Castiel handles situations with such ease and grace, Dean doesn’t really have the capacity to freak out about much as long as the angel is by his side. 

And you know what? He’ll be kinda sad to see the tentacles go. For purely selfish, libido-driven reasons.

The evening before the full moon, Dean and Castiel float on an island that Sam had brought them after Castiel’s transformation. Their torsos fit on it comfortably, and if they lie opposite each other, their tentacles hang off just right. Fingers tangled by their hips, they look at the stars through the skylight, the occasional splashing sound of their moving tentacles breaking the quiet. 

“Y’know,” Dean says softly, so as not to break the ambience, “m’ kinda glad all this happened.”

Castiel makes an inquiring noise, squeezing Dean’s fingers lightly.

“I mean, look at us,” Dean grins, lifting their hands a bit and shaking Castiel’s. “This happened. We’ve had so many chances for this and we were both so…” his free hand comes up to wipe down his face, stifling his chuckle. 

“You’re saying we owe it to this curse that we are together now,” Castiel supplies, his voice tinged with warmth and amusement. 

“Kinda,” Dean hums. He licks his lips, then forces himself to say, “When this is all over, we’ll still be together, right? This wasn’t like, a pity-bond or something?” 

Castiel sits up on the float so he can properly look at Dean, who is resolutely looking anywhere else. “Dean, look at me.”

It takes him a few seconds, Dean’s eyeballs practically creaking in his sockets as he finally looks over at the angel.

Castiel’s expression is warm, soft, and open. “This is our _profound_ bond, and no matter what form we take, I will always want you, Dean.” 

Dean’s heart trips up a little in his throat, his free hand coming up to cover his eyes, knowing that Castiel will see his blush, anyway. His tentacles quiver in the water, little rippling sounds echoing in the quiet, and then finally Dean lets out a slow exhale before he drops his hand and sends Castiel a watery smile. “No chick flick moments.” 

Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand before lying back once more. “Of course, Dean.”

🐙🐙🐙

The spell is no big deal, and thankfully reversing the transformation hurts considerably less. In a flash of purple light and a bit of silver smoke Dean and Castiel have their land legs back, both of them wobbly and barely able to stand. They hold onto each other, Rowena tuts in amusement, and Sam walks forward to wrap his brother and the angel up in a tight bear hug, squishing their faces against each other as he crushes them to his chest.

“I’m happy for you guys,” Sam sniffs into Dean’s hair. 

“Oh my God, stop,” Dean says at the same time Castiel hums “Thank you, Sam”. 

“I’m ready to get the fuck outta here,” Dean says, wrestling himself out of Sam’s grasp. 

Sam lets Castiel go and says, “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Dean nearly kicks Sam in the shin when they get outside and his moose of a brother tries to get behind Baby’s wheel. They all pile in, Dean blaring some Zepp to find a bit more of his ‘footing (emotionally)’, the ride to the bunker relatively quiet. Upon arrival Dean glances towards Castiel, loudly suggests “an actual shower”, and delights in Sam’s bitch face and Rowena’s eyeroll as the pair head off to wherever, while Dean drags Castiel towards the shower. 

“Aren’t you tired of water?” Castiel asks curiously. The guy doesn’t even need to shower, but he’s entertaining Dean anyway, like he usually does. 

“Fuck yeah I am, but I really wanna use actual soap and shit,” Dean huffs. He shuts the door to the shower room and immediately starts stripping. He flashes Castiel a wolfish smile, “Plus, I thought this’d be a good way for us to get… reacquainted.” 

Clearly catching on, Castiel starts stripping his clothes off as well. Dean is naked first, walking over to a shower stall and turning on the tap with one hand as he searches his shelf with the other. Tucked behind his body wash is a bottle of lube, which he grabs with a triumphant grin, bringing it to the front of the shelf so it’s within easy reach. Before he can do anything else he feels Castiel’s solid, firm body plastering against him, cock already hard where it rests against Dean’s crack.

“Mmm, just what I had in mind,” Dean murmurs, turning around to drape his arms over Castiel’s shoulders, drawing him in for a kiss. The water is hot, the bathroom steaming up, Castiel erasing Dean’s bad memory of transformation with sweet touches and hungry smooches. Dean had worried that with their human bodies the novelty of being together would wear off, but the heat still simmers below the surface, consuming Dean from the inside out the longer their mouths slip and slide together. 

Castiel backs Dean underneath the spray, both of them getting drenched. Water snakes between the spaces of their lips, exchanging smiles and spit as they have a hard time closing their mouths against each other, the slickness and taste drawing them together over and over again. It’s so easy, being with Castiel, both as a Kraken halfling and as a human, their cocks bumping together as they trade lazy kisses and caresses. Dean’s never felt like this with anyone before, and while normally that realization would scare him to the moon but with Castiel… it keeps him on earth. 

They do manage to actually get clean, sudsing each other up and rinsing off, Dean putting his body wash back and picking up the lube. Their cocks have been bumping and sliding against each other the whole time, precome dribbling down and getting washed away with the water; Dean globs some lube onto his fingers, then Castiel’s fingers, and through mutual desire they reach around each other’s bodies, fingers dipping into each other’s cracks. Dean exhales shakily when Castiel’s fingers press against his pucker, Dean returning the favor, teasing each other with barely-there pressure and fire-hot intent. They adjust their legs, roll their hips, and rest their shoulders against the shower wall, Dean’s right and Castiel’s left, so they’re facing one another but have a bit of stability to help keep them upright. 

Dean’s fingers slip into Castiel first. It’s nothing like his gooch, Dean thinks with a bit of amusement, but it’s probably a thousand times better, hotter and tighter. Castiel’s fingers breach Dean’s rim and his wrist stutters against Castiel’s cheeks. Fingering each other open takes a bit more finesse than they might be capable of, but what they manage feels incredible. Castiel rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder, shuddering every time Dean lets out a moan against the shell of his ear. Their cocks grind, knees slotted and feet braced so they can rock against each other and back onto their fingers. It’s a slow build, the slowest yet, but the desire burns hot in Dean’s belly. Even though this is the first time they’re exploring each other’s _real_ bodies, they still tune into each other seamlessly, still rock each other’s worlds.

Orgasm is slow, but anything from dissatisfying. With pressure on their prostates and their cocks pressed together Dean comes first, oozing slow and milky, the fingers of his free hand tightening on Castiel’s hip as he rubs his cum over the angel’s cock and across his tummy. Castiel watches with hooded eyes, the expression on his features rapturous, like being marked with Dean’s cum is a craving fully sated. When Dean’s cock stops pulsing Castiel withdraws his fingers from the man’s body to reach between them, tugging on his own cock, pressing it up against his stomach, smearing the cum all over his shaft, down towards his balls, where his sticky fingers give the swollen flesh a pull. He rocks up on his feet, Dean’s fingers slide deeper, and then Castiel’s head tilts back, a low groan ripping from his throat as he comes in hot spurts, a rope even going as high as Dean’s chest. Dean moves a hand to help stroke him through it as his mouth seals to Castiel’s throat, sucking a dark mark next to one of the fading sucker prints. 

Coming down from their high, Dean seems to have more coordination, so he carefully rinses them off again, evidence of their pleasure draining along with the hot water still cascading over them. Their lips meet in a series of slow, tender smooches, and when they pull apart they’re both grinning like fucking idiots at each other.

Out of the shower they towel off and sneak to Dean’s room; Dean throws a pair of sweats and a t-shirt to Castiel, donning much of the same, enjoying the possessive swirl in his gut when he sees the angel wearing his clothes and looking so… snuggly-able. 

It’s kind of weird seeing Castiel with legs, and being on his own two feet, but as they turn out the lights and fall in bed together, curling up under the blankets with their feet and hands tangled, foreheads pressed together… Dean’s never been happier for the outcome of a curse.

Rowena still needs her own fucking fridge, though.

**Author's Note:**

> you thought it was gonna be a lot pornier, huh  
i think i'm getting soft in my old age  
i struggled with thinking of a title and i can't tell you how many times i typed and deleted "gooch smooch"


End file.
